


The Book of Dean

by Zanne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, wincest (non-graphic/implied)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-06
Updated: 2011-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:03:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanne/pseuds/Zanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's view of Dean, threaded through Ecclesiastes.  This is a companion to Dean's view of Sam in <em>The Song of Sammy</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Book of Dean

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://insomnia-geek.livejournal.com/profile)[**insomnia_geek**](http://insomnia-geek.livejournal.com/) for beta-ing! You all know a little of Ecclesiastes if you've ever heard The Byrds' _Turn, Turn, Turn_. The Bible verse I used (and edited) can be found here - > [http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Ecclesiastes%201%20;&version=65](http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Ecclesiastes%201%20;&version=65);.  Kripke owns all. (Originally posted: 3/9/08)

_What's there to show for a lifetime of work,  
a lifetime of working your fingers to the bone?  
One day goes its way, the next one arrives,  
but nothing changes—it's business as usual.  
Year after year it's the same old thing.  
Nobody remembers what happened yesterday.  
And the things that will happen tomorrow?  
Nobody will remember them either.  
Don't count on being remembered.  
_  
It was the monotony that got to Sam - the same kind of job in the same kind of town, going to sleep in the same kind of seedy motel room every night. Every day had its own routine, its own ritual. Sam was just a cog in the endlessly clinking Winchester machine. The days passed, bland as tap water, and Sam was a stone, slowly eroding until he would be just as smooth and undisturbed as a glass pebble on the beach – another interchangeable part in Dad’s arsenal. Nothing ever changed and each day just seemed a reminder of the life he was missing out on.

But Dean, Dean woke up as if each new day were a surprise – a present wrapped in pretty paper and tied up in a big red bow. How he did it, Sam never understood. Sam would sit at the kitchen table, eating the same old breakfast and watch Dean as he greeted the day – a welcoming smile on his face as if he couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

Sometimes, Dean’s excitement seemed almost contagious and it made Sam curious about what he might see when he opened the door. But it was just the same old cracked parking lot in front of the latest run down motel they called home.

It broke Sam’s heart just a little that he could never see what Dean saw.

  
 _Humans and animals come to the same end—  
humans die, animals die.  
So there's really no advantage in being human.  
We all end up in the same place—  
we all came from dust, we all end up as dust.  
So I made up my mind that there's nothing better for us  
than to have a good time.  
Who knows if there's anything else to life?  
_  
Dean seemed to think that Dad was invincible – that they all shared some gift of good fortune that would ensure that they lived to see another day no matter what happened. He never came right out and said it, but whenever Sam would worry aloud about Dad’s latest case that had him gone for weeks at a time, or gnaw at his bottom lip when patching up one of his brother’s wounds, Dean’s face would erupt in an expression of comic surprise. His eyebrows would disappear towards his hairline and his mouth would drop open, and the thing was, it wasn’t an act. Dean knew with absolute certainty - even when he was bleeding out across the bed, his skin paling to a ghost-white pallor with every gout of blood - that they’d all be okay, and didn’t understand why Sam was so concerned. 

Thing was, Sam had never lost anyone before; Mom didn’t count because he didn’t remember her in any real way, nothing more than a picture hidden in the bottom of his duffel bag. Dean seemed party to some secret Sam wasn’t invited to share, that even if you lost someone all that unbounded love and affection could be turned elsewhere - that it didn’t disappear, it just turned into something new. Weird as it was, it wasn’t the person that was missing that was important; it was who was left behind.

Sam never understood that until he lost Jess, when he turned all that aimless devotion onto his brother. It wasn’t that Dean was a replacement, but instead was a celebration of life, that there was someone left to love and be loved by.

It never made Sam any less scared when Dean was hurt, but he was more sure his brother would pull through because he knew Sam needed him, and Dean had never let Sam down before.

  
 _It’s better to have a partner than to go it alone.  
Share the work, share the wealth.  
And if one falls down, the other helps,  
but if there’s no one to help – you’re out of luck!  
Two in bed warm each other.  
Alone, you shiver all night.  
By yourself, you’re unprotected.  
With a brother you can face the worst.  
_  
Sam didn’t know how Dean had done this alone for so long. The guilt always burned and twisted in his gut when he thought of those years he had left Dean alone. Sam remembered how he had felt when he got to Stanford, with no one to lean on, every face a stranger – how much he had wanted to get right back on the bus and return home every night when he curled up in bed without Dean beside him.

The world was a different place without Dean there – not quite as bright and shiny as Sam had thought.

When Dean finally came to get him, Sam was overcome with a rush of relief so profound he felt like it must light up the room with its brilliance. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Jess, but that it was _Dean_ – Dean had been the foundation of his world since…always and forever. Every step Sam had taken since he had carved out on his own, feeling as if the very earth beneath his feet were unsteady without Dean beside him.

Despite the loss of Jess, the world clicked into order when he resumed his place at Dean’s side. This was the way things worked - this was his part to play. With Dean at his side once more, the nightmares went away and he never shivered all alone under the covers. He would just roll over and curl more tightly around his brother, burying himself in the heat that blazed beside him.

Dean had always been his compass and Sam’s course was finally set.

  
 _Watch your step when you enter Dad’s house.  
Don't shoot off your mouth, or speak before you think.  
Dad's in charge, not you—the less you speak, the better.  
When you tell Dad you'll do something, do it—now.  
Dad takes no pleasure in foolish gabble.  
_  
Dad’s word was law in their world. Everything that came out of his mouth was an order, no matter the tone he used. It could pour sweet as combed honey past his lips, but it still amounted to much the same thing. Sam would have to bite his tongue when he saw Dean snap to attention, drinking in Dad’s words like water, something necessary for life as he knew it.

Maybe for Dean it was, but not for Sam.

It drove Sam to distraction that Dean fell in line so easily, no matter what their father asked of him. It made Sam wonder if he were nothing more than a long forgotten order in Dean’s life, something that had been responded to with a quick, “Yes, sir!” – not because Dean wanted or needed him, but because he was expected to take care of his little brother, no matter how big he got.

Sam hated not knowing and he took his anger out on Dean as he grew, until he towered over his brother and muscles filled out his tawny skin. Even this new perspective brought no answers for his unasked questions and he lashed out even harder, using both words and fists to break Dean down.

Then Sam discovered a new way to break past Dean’s defenses and finally found the answer he’d always been searching for.

  
 _After looking at the way things are on this earth,  
here’s what I’ve decided is the best way to live:  
Take care of yourself, have a good time,  
and make the most of whatever job you have for as long as you live.  
Yes, we should make the most of what we have,  
both the bounty and capacity to enjoy it,  
accepting what’s given and delighting in the work.  
We deal out joy in the present, the now.  
_  
Dean had always been there for as long as Sam could remember. From the time Sam could walk, Dean had been only a hand-span away – a strong arm to grasp when on wobbly feet, a warm body to curl up with when the blankets felt too thin.

Even as Sam grew, he was Dean’s shadow just as Dean was his – always near even if not acknowledged – the pesky younger brother with worship in his eyes.

But Dean began to distance himself once Sam started to stretch to meet his six foot tall frame and beyond - when Sam began to wear the bulk needed to balance out his long limbs and knobby knees. Dean looked lost – betrayal edging his features as if Sam had done something unforgivable - and Sam didn’t understand why.

It all clicked into place one afternoon as they sparred, when Sam knocked Dean to the ground with a well-planned right hook, a slow smile of triumph creeping over his face as he stood over his downed brother, hands clasped in loose fists at his sides. Just for a moment – so quick Sam wasn’t even sure he had seen it – darkness flooded Dean’s eyes, a mournful look so full of loss it was as if Sam saw Dean’s soul shatter. It was quickly replaced by a quick grin and a proud slap on the shoulder, but the memory of it shook Sam to his very foundations.

Now that Sam could take care of himself, Dean felt obsolete. He thought Sam didn’t need him anymore.

Later that night, Sam proved him wrong.

  
 _I looked long and hard at what goes on around here,  
and let me tell you, things are bad.  
There are people, for instance,  
on whom God showers everything  
—money, property, reputation—  
all they ever wanted or dreamed of.  
And then God doesn't let them enjoy it.  
Some stranger comes along and has all the fun.  
_  
Dean never saw others as having more, because they didn’t have what he had – a beautiful car and Sam at his side. In Dean’s mind, what more could a man possibly want? Sam envied the simplicity of Dean’s life; Dean was almost as much of an ascetic as Thoreau, satisfied with so very little when the whole world would willingly fall at his feet just for the flash of a smile.

So many of the people they helped had big houses and fancy cars, deep bank accounts and a pristine office full of work that needed to be done. But they still wound up in the same place as Dean and Sam, covered in dirt and blood as some evil thing tried to kill them. None of that stuff protected them, kept them safe. None of what they had was worth much of anything when it came down to it.

Give Dean a cold beer on a hot day, a full belly, Sam curled up beside him and that was Dean’s idea of heaven. After so long fighting it, Sam was finally beginning to see the appeal.

Sam never felt safer than when his brother’s steady breaths brushed against his throat, Dean’s hand heavy on his belly as he nuzzled even closer, snuffling in his sleep.

  
 _Your death date tells more than your birth date.  
You learn more at a funeral than at a feast—  
after all, that's where we'll end up.  
Laughing is better than crying.  
It blotches the face but it clears the heart.  
Sages invest themselves in fun and games.  
Fools waste their lives in hurt and grieving.  
Brutality stupefies even the wise  
and destroys the strongest heart.  
_  
Sam looked back at all the men they had known and lost – Dad, Pastor Jim, Caleb…. Their tombstones, if they had one, all marked the death of a man that was far too young to be rotting in the ground, far too young to have his ashes scattered to the four winds.

Dean would be one of them soon. And what would his tombstone say? _Here lies a man that loved his brother not wisely, but too well._ Dean had always given all of himself to Sam, even when Sam was far too young or too selfish to appreciate it. Sam could never convince Dean of his own self-importance, even with all the whispered words and hungry kisses, pulled from him so effortlessly by Dean’s every caressing touch.

Dean had his own kind of wisdom. It wasn’t the kind Sam had once thought so important - the leather bound, musty smelling knowledge of books or the acrid, dry scent of a humming computer. No, Dean’s wisdom was of the more earthy variety - the steady throb of a heartbeat, the open laughter of a joke well told, the mischievous wink of a prankster. Dean wasn’t a fool; he knew enough to enjoy life while he could. No reason to bury himself in misery when there was so much of life out there to enjoy. Their father had lost himself to grief long ago and it had destroyed him. Dean was too smart for that.

Every day with Dean was a gift, selfishly hoarded, because all too soon Sam wouldn’t get any more of these gifts at all.

And that would be the day Sam turned into their father.

  
 _Don't always be asking, "Where are the good old days?"  
Wise folks don't ask questions like that.  
On a good day, enjoy yourself;  
on a bad day, examine your conscience.  
God arranges for both kinds of days  
so that we won't take anything for granted.  
_  
Dean refused to let Sam wallow in the past. Even when Sam was a child, their mother remained some silent saint, never to be discussed. Sam once took a picture from their Dad’s wallet just so he could have a piece of this strange woman that ruled their lives with an iron fist from Heaven. She was some kind of guardian angel - a sword wielding, vengeful angel that demanded they shed blood on her altar, despite the blissful smile that marked her stolen image.

Sam could see the resemblance between her and Dean.

Dean wouldn’t even allow Sam the luxury of wallowing in his misery when Jess died. He did his damnedest to dig Sam out of his despair, despite Sam’s resistance. Sam wanted to suffer, wanted to hurt as much as Jess did when she burned so brightly above him, but Dean wouldn’t let him.

Dean was always a stubborn bastard, and Sam made sure he knew it with every hiss of breath as he pushed his way inside.

  
 _I've seen it all in my brief and pointless life—  
here a good person cut down in the middle of doing good,  
there a bad person living a long life of sheer evil.  
So don't knock yourself out being good,  
and don't go overboard being wise.  
There's not one totally good person on earth,  
not one who is truly pure and sinless.  
_  
As far as Sam was concerned, the one truly good person on this earth was his brother. Sure, Dean was far from pure; Hell, he wallowed in sin as happy as a pig in slop on a daily basis – a card game here, a few beers there, and a woman or two to top it all off. He had his foibles; Dean liked to eat and drink and fuck with all the abandon of man unbound by the fetters of conscience, but he did it with such child-like pleasure it was difficult to see it as wrong.

Dean just _lived_. He saw no reason to overburden himself with thinking things through. All that resulted in was too much thinking and not enough doing. Dean was a doer.

When Sam lay in bed tangled up with Dean until he couldn’t tell where Dean ended and he began, he gave himself over to the sensations that Dean pulled so artfully from him. With Dean at his side, touching him until they melted together in a mindless heap of pleasure, Sam thought he could understand this viewpoint. He tried to hold onto it as tightly as he could, but it always slipped away when the horrible weight of the outside world came crashing in as they lay panting side by side.

So Sam would just try harder the next time, pulling Dean down with him onto the rumpled sheets, eager for the next lesson.

  
 _Do what your father commands;  
you gave a sacred oath of obedience.  
Don't worryingly second-guess your orders  
or try to back out when the task is unpleasant.  
You're serving his pleasure, not yours.  
Your father has the last word.  
Carrying out orders won't hurt you a bit;  
the wise person obeys promptly and accurately.  
It's true that no one knows what's going to happen, or when.  
Who's around to tell us?  
_  
As Sam grew older, Dad’s orders fell like stones on his shoulders, making him hunch into himself even more stubbornly in an effort to have them bounce harmlessly off his shell, ignored and forgotten. He tried so hard to resist that he often felt the outsider in his own family, Dad and Dean aligned against him in some sort of warriors’ code he didn’t understand.

It all seemed so pointless. There was a whole world out there that Sam wanted to taste, but was always just beyond his reach because his father felt the dead were more important than the living.

And Dean? He took Dad’s side every time. Fell right in step with their father’s wishes as if he wouldn’t dare think for himself. It made Sam so angry that he’d slam the door behind him so hard that the walls would shake, shutting out Dean’s pained expression as his family was breaking apart.

Dad had Mom’s ghost, treated her faded memory with more respect than he gave either of his boys, sacrificed all their hopeful, happy days for her benefit. Dean was unerringly loyal to them both, two faded shadows that he called his mom and dad. But who did Sam have? Who could he count on?

Sometimes Sam resented Dean for not loving him enough - until the day Dean proved how much he cared with a simple kiss at a crossroads.

  
 _I’m all for just going ahead and having a good time.  
The only good we can look forward to  
is to eat and drink well –  
compensation for the struggle for survival.  
The living at least know something,  
even if it’s only that they are going to die.  
But the dead know nothing and get nothing.  
They’re a minus that no one remembers.  
Their loves, their hates, even their dreams are long gone.  
There’s not a trace of them left.  
_  
Sam would watch Dean as he prowled the bar, looking for his latest conquest – not that Dean ever saw it that way, but that’s what it was. It made something churn in Sam’s belly – something that he wouldn’t name as jealousy because Dean was just his brother.

Sam remembered all those nights when Dean would come home, reeking of sour sweat and sickly sweet perfume, bruises darkening his throat and highlighted with the waxy sheen of lip gloss. Rather than think about what his brother had been up to, Sam would roll over, his face against the wall, tucking his gangly limbs against his chest and just holding on until he could breathe again. He was relieved when Dean was sober enough to shower off the stink so Sam didn’t have to sleep drowning in that scent, or head off to school with the cloying thickness sticking to his clothes.

He felt sorry for his brother on those nights, despite the way his throat would close up and his head would spin with a confusing mix of disappointment and jealousy. He felt sorry for Dean, but he knew why he did it.

Dean was so very afraid of being forgotten that he lost himself in a crowd so he wouldn’t be alone, never realizing that Sam would never forget - even when Dean stood on the verge of Hell’s gate, on the way to forgetting everything that made him Dean.

  
 _Seize life! Eat bread with gusto,  
drink wine with a robust heart.  
Oh yes—take pleasure in your pleasure!  
Relish life with the brother you love,  
each and every day of your precarious life.  
Each day is a gift. It's all you get in exchange  
for the hard work of staying alive.  
Make the most of each one!  
This is your last and only chance at it,  
for there's neither work to do nor thoughts to think  
in the company of the dead, where you’re most certainly headed.  
_  
Dean’s motto was simple, yet profound – live each day as if it was his last. It annoyed Sam when he was younger, his righteous teenage sullenness deeming Dean a useless reprobate, the thin thread of hero worship that tied everything in Sam’s life together purposefully buried beneath layers of resentment and indignation.

Dean had so much potential. He was an adult and could do whatever the hell he wanted to, and he was still sticking around, listening to Dad and wasting his life. Sam could imagine nothing worse than turning into their father, and every day Dean stayed, it seemed more and more likely he’d lose his big brother to the same obsession that had taken their dad.

One day the same man that lived every day to its fullest would wake up and just…not. Living would become just another job to do, another obsession to keep him going – something that all too often stood in the way of getting things done.

It wasn’t so much that Sam hated Dean’s joy in life. It was that he hated knowing that one day it would be gone.

  
 _Don’t hoard your goods; spread them around.  
Be a blessing to others. This could be your last night.  
Go to work in the morning  
and stick to it until evening without watching the clock.  
You never know from moment to moment  
how your work will turn out in the end.  
_  
Work kept Dean going, even when things got bad between them. Saving people, hunting things…the family business. That made it all worthwhile.

It was when Sam saw Dean with Lucas that the underlying bitterness that tainted this life they shared dissipated - gone after so many years that Sam almost felt physically lighter, freed from the burden he had carried for so long. Seeing Dean with this child made Sam’s heart clench; at first he assumed it was another regret at what Dean was missing out on. But then Dean pulled Lucas from the water and they connected in a way that Sam had never seen before. This job hadn’t destroyed what made his brother so special; it had just made it stronger.

It wasn’t that Sam was sure he wanted this life for himself, but he could see Dean managing to do this and still being Dean. The specter of their father no longer seemed to overshadow Dean’s future.

Their father wasn’t the superhero Dean had made him out to be because Dad had never had a choice. Dean knew what lay on both sides of the fence and still chose to do this, and nothing could convince him there was something more worthwhile out there waiting for him.

  
 _Oh, how sweet the light of day,  
and how wonderful to live in the sunshine!  
Even if you live a long time, don't take a single day for granted.  
Take delight in each light-filled hour,  
remembering that there will also be many dark days  
and that most of what comes your way is smoke.  
_  
It was the time in between hunts that Sam enjoyed the most because he got to spend them with Dean – his brother’s focus entirely on him. Sam wanted Dean to just kick back, take some time off, particularly now when it was slipping away so quickly, like sand through his fingers.

He wanted to be sure that the last memories Dean had were happy ones.

So for two weeks they hid away from the world, trying to lose themselves in absolutely nothing but each other, the emptiness of the endless spring days seemingly as eternal as the years they wouldn’t have to spend with each other.

For Sam, each day was another year marked off the calendar – Monday was the year they watched nothing but Bonanza; Thursday was the year they argued over mashed potatoes versus peas (before deciding on both); Saturday was the year they spent in bed - only coming up to grab another cold beer before disappearing beneath the sheets once more. Each year hinged on some inconsequential action that would have to last them both for as long as they had the strength to remember.

By the end of the final week, Sam had fourteen years of memories saved up and it wasn’t nearly enough to last him even a minute after Dean was gone.

  
 _Life, lovely while it lasts, is soon over.  
Life as we know it, precious and beautiful, ends.  
The body is put back in the same ground it came from.  
The spirit returns to God, who first breathed it.  
_  
Even as the days counted down to the hellhounds scratching at their door, Dean kept on living. He saw no reason to curl up and die even a day earlier than expected.

Sam acted as if Dean was insane to behave so recklessly when they had such little time left, but secretly he was glad Dean was putting up the front for him. He wasn’t sure what to say to reassure his brother.

He wasn’t sure he could save him, despite the encouragements he whispered in his ear at night, and that made Sam hold onto Dean all the more tightly.

Each day ticked by, a metronome of impossibilities – Bobby _*tick*_ Missouri _*tock*_ _The Key of Solomon *tick*_ Ruby _*tock*_ the crossroads demon _*tick* Demonica Portula *tock*_. There was nothing and no one that could help.

Sam began to understand how easy it would be to give up such an insubstantial thing as a soul to have just a few more minutes with his brother. 

  



End file.
